A Hundred Acres
by Rotamis
Summary: The Woods were once a peaceful place. But what happens to a world of fantasy, when a boy is abused, and scarred of mind? The Woods have changed, and so have its denizens. Rated M for language, and just in case for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**A Hundred Acres: The Nightmare Begins**

The Moon was a pale disk in the roiling sky, casting its leery gaze over the landscape: trees, barren of leaves, bending under a screeching wind. Black dust, the choking ash, buffeting the hills. The Woods were burning. He ran as quickly as he could, but the ground was rough, and it was burning him. As he scrambled up the hill, he could hear their voices, getting closer.

" Awww, come on! Don't you want to?"

"You know you do."

"Yes, come on!"

" Get away from me!" he wailed. He had to get away. The ash was getting in his eyes. It made it hard to breathe. But they loved it.

_What's happened? It's not supposed to be like this! Where are the birds, the grass, the Sun? _

A soft crunch behind him. He spun, his heart screaming in his throat. There was nothing. They were coming he had to get away. He turned back. And his eyes met those of a monster.

" Aww, now he's scared? It's okay, once you come with us, you'll be fearless."

" What's happened to you? Why did you do this? Look at these Woods! You've burned our home!"

Red eyes scanned the horizon. A smirk came upon the beast's face.

" I rather like it." His voice had all the charm it used to, but now it was… twisted. Everything had become twisted. And now this timid thing had become a savage creature.

" You're a monster."

Its eyes flashed. Teeth bared, it emitted a low growl. Rabbit tried to retreat, but fell, and upon the burning earth he landed. The beast now stood over him, a claw outstretched.

" You don't know about monsters. You haven't seen His nightmares! You've never felt His pain!" It turned away, and stared into the sky, through the boughs of the dead trees.

" I'm tired of having nightmares."

The beast knelt down, and put its face inched from his.

" It's time I was one."

The Moon was a pale disk in the sky, a sky of warring clouds. It leered down at the scene, of a denizen of the Wood, face to face with a friend, who had turned into… something evil.

" You're not the Pooh I know."

Its fangs gleamed as it smiled. It shook its head.

" Not anymore."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry if I'm ruining an old childhood show for you guys, but this idea just won't leave me alone. So here is chapter two of my story, the explanation for the mayhem, and how it began. R&R please, and any constructive criticism, if it is indeed constructive.**

Chapter Two: A Hundred Acres of Silence

_Christopher Robin left the day his mother died, and had not set foot in the Hundred Acres since. The Wood became quiet after that. The day they all knew he wouldn't be coming back, Owl locked himself up in his house, poring over his books, as if somewhere in his library was the way to bring him back. All the while, he never spoke a word, and never stepped outside. Rabbit set to gardening that day, and hadn't stopped. He woke with the sun, hoeing and weeding his ever-growing field, working his hands to the bone sowing and harvesting, picking and pruning, and hardly making a sound. Kanga and Roo hadn't been seen since they left, wandering into the woods, leaving an empty house behind them._

_Poor Tigger had lost all of the bounce in his step. He practically abandoned his home, and took to walking along all the old paths, miles of dirt road, hoping to remember the times he had forgotten in the years of Christopher's absence. Little Piglet visited Pooh as often as he could, but only spoke behind closed doors, as an almost holy silence had fallen, daring to be broken. He was the only one to talk when he visited, as he went on and on about how the wind seemed to blow harder every day, and laugh almost too loudly at some joke from too long ago. After that, he would clean. And clean. Scrub, wash, and mop until his hands reeked of soap and bleach._

Then there was Pooh. Oh, poor Pooh bear. He was hit the hardest when he realized Christopher wasn't coming back. He seemed to crumple, and when he shut the door to his house that day, it only opened when Piglet came. He lost his appetite, and his eyes had dimmed. Some days, when Piglet had just left, or when he didn't come at all, Pooh would lie upon his bed and stare absently at his ceiling for hours, sometimes a day, without a bite to eat or a wink of rest, as depression sat heavily on his chest. In fact, it was there that he lay, when our story really begins. It was there that he lay, years after Christopher's disappearance, when the midday sun went dark.

Pooh bolted up as he awoke. Breathing Heavily, he looked out into the sky. The sun was high, glaring brightly through the glass. He sighed, and rubbed his eyes in frustration. He had had a nightmare. About him. Again. The nightmares started weeks ago, and Pooh could hardly sleep without seeing Christopher's terrified face etching into his dreams. Last night's had made no sense, all of it was loud, and dark, and frightening. All he had heard was a man's voice, whispering ugly things into the blackness.

Pooh sighed again, and pushed himself off of his bed, towards the kitchen. He wasn't hungry. **But if you don't eat, Piglet will worry again. And he'll talk even more.**

So he ate, and enjoyed not a single bite. He was washing his jar when it started.

The sky blackened, and the house was pitch dark. He gasped, and glanced up at his window. The sun was gone, and the moon sat in its place, a ring of fire burning at its rim. The sight frightened Pooh terribly, but did not prepare him for what happened next.

Suddenly his head erupted with pain. His hands clutching at his head, he fell roughly upon the ground; but his eyes were fixed upon that flaming ring, burning the sky with its very presence. Writhing on the floor, Pooh began to scream as visions flooded his mind:

A woman, with her body ravaged, lying still in a casket. Flashes of a boy, running, crying down a long hallway, as a nightmare chased him down, swinging its knife, and cackling. Human hands keeping a weak grip on a kitchen knife, as dark blood bloomed from human wrists. One man, his father, grimacing down as his fist struck down again, and again. Countless things. It seemed that years passed before the moon at last broke away, leaving the bear lying upon the floor, his mouth a rictus of silent screams. There he lay for hours until Piglet at last opened his door.

" Oh, dear! P-Pooh, are you all right? Oh my, you look awful! Here let me help you up. Did you see that eclipse earlier? Wow, that Sc-Scared me something terrible, you know! Later on I don't know why but I wondered if you were all right, and it's a good thing I did, because you could have been there for hours, If I hadn't shown up. I wonder did it have something to do with-"

"Piglet."

"Y-yes, Pooh? What is it?"

"Stop talking."

"Oh…. Well a-alright Pooh, if you prefer silence, I guess I can-"

"Piglet."

"Right. Sorry."

Piglet sat like that for a while, just looking down as he always did, when he wanted to tell Pooh something, and looked up. He gasped

"P-p-p-p-p-Pooh! Your eyes! What's wrong with your eyes!"

His eyes, instead of black beads, had become wide open, and his pupils had shrunk, making Pooh looked crazed. Pooh just smiled. His teeth showed.

" I consider it an improvement, don't you think?"

He laughed into the silence. It was not Pooh's laugh.


	3. Chapter 3

A few days had passed since the first eclipse, and it was becoming clear that it had caused more than just a tremor in The Wood. Pooh had been scarred, horrified. What was happening to Christopher out there? What were these nightmares?

And nightmares they were. Awful terrors. Every night, he was plagued by such terrors, cracks in Christopher's psyche. They had targeted Pooh. But why?

_Why? _He asked himself, as he stared into the mirror, staring himself dead in his frightful eyes. Eyes full of fear… terror… anger… hatred.

He reatreated a few steps, eyes widened. He looked at his reflection. It stared back, just as he was… mimicking him. Mocking him?

"You mocking me?"

The reflection copied, lips moving in time. _The bastard._

_No, wait. This is crazy. It's a reflection._

The reflection was staring at him. Through him. It grinned. Pooh leaned in close, staring into his own teeth. They were sharper. Dangerous.  
>Abruptly, the mirror shook. Pooh jumped. The reflection did not. It only continued to grin at him, a leer with eyes so wide, teeth so sharp. It mocked him. Pooh could feel it. <em>The sickness. It's deepening.<em>

The doppelganger glared on. It raised a hand. Pooh could no longer move. Terror struck him as the hand curled, revealing wicked crooks, jagged and sharp. His mirror image inaudibly chuckled, waving his claws in front of the glass.

_**Let me out.**_

Pooh fell to the floor, eyes never leaving those of his reflection.

_**Let me out, Pooh.**_

A single claw grazed along the glass, leaving deep gouges. Pooh's ears cringed at the sound.

_**LET ME OUT!**_

Glass broke. Screams.

A cry was at his throat as he awoke. He lay there for who knows how long, staring at the ceiling, not daring to blink for fear of another nightmare. He rose from bed, and walked towards the bathroom.

_Look at yourself. Just a look, and you'll be fine. It was a dream, you have to realize—_

He eyed the mirror, and was at first terrified the beast had returned. But no. He stared at his teeth, fangs shining under curled lips. His fur. He touched the top of his head. It was dark on top, shaggy. Growing fast.

_I have hair?_

He looked again at his own eyes. So crazed. He stepped back from the mirror. He didn't have to look to feel his hands. He knew the claws were there. He felt them.

_What is happening to me?_

_You are . This mind is cracking. _

" It is changing. So must I."

He peered at himself, and smiled. What a wild, deranged visage he had now.

" I like it."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Christopher had come home from school. Father wasn't home yet, and he was left with her. She-devil. Oh, he hated her. And it most definitely was mutual.

She had hit him today. Again. His face, arms. He didn't want to think about it.

In his room, he looked at his toys, his favorite things. He picked up little Rabbit. He was so angry.

He threw it, it struck the fan, tearing at the shoulder. In his anger, he kicked it, furthrt tearing it. Tigger was next. Swung by his tail, he hit first the wall, then the lamp, tearing the tail and breaking the lamp. They were only toys, what were they? He was to break them all.

Piglet. Dragged in the glass of the lamp, cutting Christopher's feet. Blood on the toy. He was torn by teeth, face bitten. His gums soon bled, too.

Then Pooh. Thrown into the window, shattering glass. Grab the sliver. The eye. Stab. Stab. Tear out the eye.

Christopher sat, breathing heavily and bleeding profusely, was surrounded by glass and toen childhood when the stepmother walked in. She unleashed her wrath on him, face, arms, legs.  
>" Damn boy is mad, Alan. He should be taken in. He has thrown a fit and hurt himself. I don't know what else I can do, Alan."<p>

Crocodile tears. How he hated that woman. He lay in the mess, and cried. He finally slept, with one thought.

_I want her to die._


	4. Chapter 4

" Rghaaaaaaaagh!"  
>Pooh was torn from his daydream by a ragged screech coming from outside. In his reverie, he looked out of his window, looking with his wide and frightening eyes at the scene before him.<p>

Wails of agony flooded the Acres this day. Rabbit dropped his hoe, grasping his arm and howling as it tore at the seam, fluff and… something else, something new… falling from the wound. He dropped to his knees, drops of the new and scary substance dotting the plants around him. This pain Pooh saw, and more he would see, as he opened his door, stepping out for the first time in years out into the Acres.

He found Piglet sprawled on his kitchen floor, bleach seeping into his unconscious face. His face. Scratches and tears, the look of teeth on him. Pooh pulled Piglet away from the puddle of reeking cleaner, wiping it from his mouth and patting his face with his shirt.

" P-P-Pooh?"  
>" Yes, Piglet."<p>

" It hurts, P-Pooh."  
>" Yes, I know Piglet."<br>" Did… did Christopher?"  
>" I think so, Piglet. Something is happening to him out there."<p>

Tigger ran wildly into the clearing, fuzz and-was it blood? – spurting from where his tail had once been.  
>" Gone! It's gone! Aagh! Whyy?"<p>

All this pain, this suffering. This was someone's doing.

"_He's thrown a fit and hurt himself. I don't know what else to do, Alan!"_

A drop of blood fell to Piglet's brow. Pooh bit his lip to keep from crying out, grunting loudly in his throat as pain ripped across his face, fire settling into his eye. One of his frightening eyes. The pain overwhelmed, and the eye went dark.

" Christopher Robiiiiin!" not a cry. A roar.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Days, weeks past. Time was nothing now in the Wood. Rabbit weeded and plowed, wincing every time his right arm flexed. The poor thing was twisted, the fur tangled and embedded in muscle and scab. There was no medicine, and Rabbit could do little else than what he could… sew himself back up.

_The image is skewed. Blood? Muscle? What is this?_

Pooh contemplated as he sat in front of his mirror, his own face multiplied a dozen times in the factures and slivers of glass. He drew back the black fur, looking with disgust at the macabre joke that had been played on his face. One eye, wide and shining, tiny pupil attentive. One blind, torn and ravaged, clumsy stitches holding the fluff, the little that was left, inside.

The sun went black.  
>" The next time!"<p>

Tremor.  
>" I see your grubby fingers!"<p>

Quake.  
>" touch my things again, you shall wish you were never spawned!"<p>

Rumble.

Pooh's head burst into that familiar pain. He cried out, looking again at the cursed eclipse.

" DO I make myself clear!"

_**I wish she were dead.**_

"Aagh!"

_**I want her to die.**_

"Grrrr!"

_**I can't take it!**_

" GRAAAAHH!"

_Pooh Bear felt it, the moment the last string was broken, holding together the pieces of Christopher's tender psyche. He felt it in his own mind. Pooh had always been the center, the focal point of the Acres. This was happening to him…because he was the vital piece of the puzzle. _

_Pooh Bear felt it, he felt all the anger, the hate, the disgust, the depression. The madness. The sickness, he called it. _

The last string had been cut. Christopher had been struck, abused, berated, hated. Traumatized one too many times. That day, a seed of evil was planted in the Wood, but not where one would suspect. This seed never touched the Acres' soil.

The Beast awakened slowly at first. Invisible claws tore the wooden planks beneath him, as some imaginary weight heaved off the floor, the planks creaking and cracking in protest. A low growl could be heard just over the resounding silence. The growl became a voice.

" I'm so sick…. hahahahaaa."


	5. Chapter 5

_Ah, now this, my friends is the point at which we reach my inspiration. The scene which flooded my head so long ago and got me to write this story. Here it comes, everyone. The sickness is spreading. This by no mean has become a songfic, but there will be lyrics peppered into it. I do not own The Hundred Acre Woods, or Disturbed. But I own this fusion._

"Can you feel that?" The Beast whispered, as the flayed remnants of Pooh writhed within, the salt of bitterness and stinging madness seeped into his form, into his wounds. The Beast looked down at the nub of paw he possessed, flexed his invisible claws, and slashed the mirror next to him. Nothingness cut the glass with ease, and shards sprayed like rain along the floor, embedding themselves into his feet. His heavy, clawed feet.  
>"Christopher Robin, I love what you've done with the place." The deep voice within the stuffed bear chuckled, as beady eyes surveyed the cracked, broken, unkempt mess of what used to be Pooh's house. It was its house now. It owned this.<br>"But I can think of a few more renovations to suggest." He looked out of the window at the Wood, as the sun began to sink at an alarming speed.  
>"These people. They won't do." His mouth cracked into a wicked smile, fangs shining in the sunset.<p>

Christopher Robin found the knife in the kitchen drawer. The knife he had spent night after night these days holding to his wrist, daring himself to cut. Daring himself to die. But no, no longer. A deeper voice permeated his thoughts, one with purpose.  
><em><strong>She has to die, Chris. She has done this for the last time.<br>**_The knife rang quietly, the vibrations filling the chill air with an intensity that verged on agonizing. He brought the blade to his lips, feeling the cold of the blade against his flesh.  
><em><strong>It must be warmed.<br>**_"Yes. It must. And…. Mommy will do just fine." He smiled, the black circles under his eyes only making more obvious the keen light in his eyes.  
>….<p>

"P-p-p-Pooh! Please, help! The sun, it-"Piglet peeked through the door of Pooh's house, panicked by the sun, panicked by the threat of another attack, another pain, another tremor.  
>"Pooh! W-w-where… Hello?" He slowly made his way into the living room, or what was left of it. Along the walls were claw marks, wavering lines of crevices laid deep into the wood. They led to the bedroom, to the dark, quiet room with no door. Piglet was frozen, the burned face scrunched in fear. The reek of bleach still filled his nostrils, dizzied him and made the feeling of dread which stirred thickly inside him ever more potent.<br>"Can you feel that?"  
>His heart flew into his mouth and spinning about, his feet came out from under him and he fell sprawled on the rug below. A darkness blocked the doorway, a darkness which stood behind his life long friend. A darkness which was too large, too real to be a shadow. Shadows did not breathe. At last, Pooh repeated himself.<br>"Can you feel it?"  
>"F-ff-f-ff-ff-feel what, P-P-PPP-Pooh?" He was nearly mute with fear.<br>"Ah shit." His hands flew to his eye, the burning eye which never ceased. He growled deeply, a sound which nearly shook the house on its foundations, and certainly shook Piglet to the bone.

"Please, I don't understand. What is wrong?"  
>"EVERYTHING!" He screamed, and Piglet screamed in reply, scrambling to his feet as his throat grew hoarse, only to feel the steely grip of something cold on his ankle, a grip that threatened to break him.<br>When he next saw the Beast, Pooh had vanished. The light was gone from his eyes, replaced with a grimace of such malice that it seemed Piglet would shrivel away.  
>"This place. It is so rife with sickness. Such a putrid, meaningless existence you have suffered for so long." He swung the little pig on his leg, drinking in its fear, thriving from it.<br>"You're my friend right? You trust me?"  
>Piglet shivered, head shaking violently with fear. He couldn't control himself.<br>"Well," The Beast murmured, before slamming the pig into the wall, cracking it beneath its fist.  
>"DO YOU?"<br>"Yes! Oh god please don't kill me, yes." Piglet wept. His friend dead, not replaced with this horrid creature, was enough to break him. It smiled brightly, a parody of the Pooh that was long gone.  
>"Good! I'm glad to hear that. Because you see, I need help. You people, to be quite honest, are disgusting. Sad, really. I hate to look at you. But I can help with that." He brushed a hand past his hair, and Piglet caught sight of the horror that was his eye, red and glowing beneath. The mere sight of it hurt.<br>"I have a sickness. A disease. A lovely affliction which I want to give to you, Piglet. You deserve it, you are my friend. We are friends and you trust me. I will fix you." All the while as he said this, his shadow lengthened, his voice deepened.

**Hate. Pain. Misery.  
><strong>Piglet grasped his head and cried out.  
>"These I can take away from you, little pig. I can make them yours, to control and no longer be controlled by." He drew his face closer, the rotten stink of its face making the pig gag.<br>"Just look at it." He drew his hair to the side and stared, red eye boring into Piglet, hurting him. Burning him.

**Blood. Fire. Hell.  
><strong>"Let's make this together, little pig. A new home. We've outgrown this one."  
>"Where is Pooh?"<br>"I'm right here Piglet. And soon you'll understand. Now LOOK AT ME!"  
>This time the house did shake, and reflexively the pig looked up in fear, only to meet the eye. And the eye truly burned him.<br>"Get down, pig. Be one with the sickness."


End file.
